


What Makes It Real

by ineptshieldmaid



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-09
Updated: 2008-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where badgers talk and centaurs really exist, it is not hard to imagine winning a war against your own uncle. It is a good deal harder to imagine winning such a war when it is raining, and you yourself are exhausted and aching; when there are Talking Beasts dying and you can't help but feel it is all your fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes It Real

In a world where badgers talk and centaurs really exist, it is not hard to imagine winning a war against your own uncle. It is a good deal harder to imagine winning such a war when it is raining, and you yourself are exhausted and aching; when there are Talking Beasts dying and you can’t help but feel it is all _your_ fault. And so it all felt horribly incongruous to Caspian to stand around, in the middle of a war, and debate whether or not ancient witches might be more efficacious allies than magical horns.

Caspian felt that he was terribly out of his depth. Magical horns and ancient witches were not covered in his sensible governance lessons. Nor were fights in dark council chambers and hags and werewolves. When there was silence, there were new voices, boy’s voices, and Caspian wondered if someone had cast a spell after all. Then light; there was Trumpkin, wherever _he_ had come from, and there were two boys. The elder had command before anyone even knew whom he was, taking stock of the dead and accounting for the living.

‘Your Majesty is very welcome,’ said Caspian, sinking back against the wall. The High King regarded him for a moment, and then glanced around the room to make sure that all of Caspian’s council were listening.

‘I haven’t come to take your place, you know,’ he said. Caspian wondered if he ought to feel relieved.

 

 

The High King’s brother- King Edmund, who had looked in the candlelight to be younger than Caspian, but in the daylight outside the How was silent, hard and fierce- bore the High King’s message to Miraz. Caspian followed the High King further up the How’s outer face, and found him seated in a vantage point which gave him a good view over the battlefield. His sword- Rhindon, dear gods, the ancient sword of Narnia- lay naked on his lap, and the High King had pulled out a rag and was polishing it with great focus.

‘King Caspian,’ the High King said. He gestured for Caspian to sit. ‘Are you enjoying this little adventure?’

Caspian could see Miraz’s guards apprehend King Edmund. ‘Not really,’ he confessed. The High King’s hands stopped working on the sword and his eyes fixed sharply on Caspian. ‘Do you,’ Caspian frowned. ‘Do _you_ think this is an adventure?’

Peter ran one finger absently over the sword-steel, and smiled. It was a wild, hungry sort of smile, and his gaze slipped past Caspian, focusing on something far distant.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said quietly. ‘The very best kind.’

‘You could die,’ Caspian protested. People _had_ died, already.

Peter sheathed his sword and stood up. Edmund was coming back across the battlefield. Peter pulled Caspian to his feet and gripped his shoulder, just a little too tightly.

‘_That’s what makes it real_. Never forget: this is _real._’

Caspian didn’t think he _could_ forget.

 

 

Peter slung one arm around Caspian’s shoulders and they went down to the field together.

 


End file.
